


Good Southern Manners

by gutsforgarters



Series: Marlboro Man [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Dom/sub, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Season/Series 03, Smoking, an ode to pussy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: Daryl's still got a few things to learn about beingpolite. Lucky for him, Beth's willing to teach him the basics of please and thank you.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: Marlboro Man [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684750
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71





	Good Southern Manners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattyshack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/gifts).



> For Maj, who graciously supplied the summary and waded through my rough draft for typos. I swear that the new chapter of _Marlboro Man_ is still on its way, and in the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy this smutty little interlude. I also think that it stands well on its own, so you needn't have read _Marlboro Man_ to understand this. But if it sounds like something you'd be interested in, well...go ahead and follow the series links.

Daryl fucking loves Beth’s pussy.

Kinda ironic when he thinks about it, seeing as he’s spent most of his adult life not understanding what the big fucking deal was, or why his brother would dedicate so much time and effort to chasing after it when his own hand and some spit would do just fine. Why fucking bother with a partner when all you really care about is getting your own self off, anyhow? Men like that didn’t want a woman; they wanted a goddamn blowup doll.

He gets it now. Or, well—sorta. This ain’t about getting himself off, nah, ain’t about fucking Beth’s cunt like it’s his own fist without any real concern for what _she_ gets outta the whole affair. It’s about getting _her_ off. It ain’t that he’s suddenly obsessed with pussy in general, neither. Just Beth’s.

And not that it’s anybody else’s goddamn business, but if it _was_ , could they even fucking blame him? Just putting aside the fact that he only cares about her pussy at all because it’s attached to her, and not to break down her sum to its parts, but it’s pretty goddamn perfect all on its own. If he was the kind of man inclined toward writing shitty poetry, he’d probably compare it to a ripe peach in the spring, the kind that squeezes out sticky-sweet juice you can’t help but lick off your fingers one at a time, going slow to savor it.

 _Daryl_ sure as hell could spend hours just licking her off his fingers before dipping back in for more, and maybe he will, ’cause it’s not like there ain’t plenty of the stuff to go around. Sweat and come streak Beth’s tensed thighs in shimmering trails and gleam in the knotted nest of her pubic hair, clinging to her pussy lips like the drops of morning dew he used to suck off of honeysuckle flowers when he was a kid. She’s wet as a rainfall, wet enough to drown him, but that’s alright, ’cause he’d die fucking happy if the last thing he ever saw was Beth Greene’s pussy.

And what a goddamn sight it is. If you held a fucking gun to his head and told him to name the prettiest thing about Beth, right fucking now ’cause his sorry life depends on it, he couldn’t fucking tell you, alright, but her pussy’s definitely up there. It’s just so fucking _pink_ , pink like her blush and pink like her tight little nipples, except for when he _really_ starts to work her up, ’cause then it turns _red_ , red like slutty lipstick and red like an open wound, clit swelling up hard as any dick and just begging for suction.

’Cause that’s what he wants to do—he wants to _suck her off_ , wants it more than he wants to keep breathing, and make no fucking mistake, he’d happily suffocate himself in the pursuit of that goal. Only when he smooths his hands down Beth’s thighs to her hips and ducks his head to eat her, tongue hanging outta his open mouth like a dog’s, she snags him by the hair and pulls him up short.

It don’t hurt or nothing—Beth’s always real careful with him ’less she’s too caught up in chasing her high to bother, not that he minds much—but he still makes a sullen kinda noise, tongue rolling back into his mouth, teeth snapping together when he clenches his jaw. What in the name of good goddamn fuck does she think she’s doing? He’s tryna get to _work_ here.

“What?” he grumbles, and if he sounds a little pissed off, that’s because he is. Her pussy’s _right there_ , right in front of his fucking face and turned up toward his mouth, slick lips clenching in anticipation. He feels like somebody just set a full plate down in front of him only to snatch it away at the last possible second, so, yeah, he’s feeling kinda _irked_.

Instead of answering him right off, though, Beth braces her free hand against the floor and sits up, the stretched-out collar of her faded tank top swooping low to flash her nipples. Daryl didn’t bother taking her shirt off of her because he was in too much of a hurry to strip her from the waist down and get at her cunt, but maybe he will once he’s done eating her. Maybe he’ll get his tongue and teeth on those maraschino-cherry nipples and suck a chain of hickeys all up and down her perky tits.

If she ever fucking _lets him_ get around to eating her, Christ.

She tugs his head back on his neck, and he pushes up on his elbows to ease some of the resulting strain, as well as to better look her in the face ’cause no fucking way in hell will he hear a goddamn word she says if he keeps on looking at her cunt or her tits.

But then she shrugs, and her tank top’s strap slips down her shoulder so her whole left tit’s hanging out like a ripe apple dangling from a branch and, _fuck_. So much for keeping his eyes north of her neckline.

“Nothin’,” she says, and Daryl snorts because like hell does he believe that shit. But then Beth ruffles her fingers through his hair, nails scratching the base of his neck, and his eyes slide to half mast, tension draining from his back and shoulders. What was he annoyed about, again? “It’s just—you really like this, don’t you?”

“Like what?” he wants to know, because she’s really gonna have to elaborate, here. Does she mean what she’s doing right now, turning him to fucking putty with just her fingers? Or does she mean fucking her? Just being with her in general? Because fuck yeah, he likes all of those things, probably more than he should.

Beth’s lips quirk. They’re red too; red from kissing his fucking brains out before he got her pinned to the sleeping bag he spread out across the guard tower floor. She scratches up to the crown of his skull, then stops, fingers braiding through his hair. When he makes another grouchy noise, her smile just widens.

“Y’know.” Her legs bounce restlessly. _Pointedly_. “This.”

Daryl just arches his eyebrows at her because, yeah, he _is_ starting to catch on—contrary to popular opinion, he ain’t half as dumb as he looks—but you know what? He wants to hear her say it.

She rolls her eyes and huffs, fingers tightening imperceptibly in his hair. “Goin’ down on me, jeez.”

She blushes when she says it. Girl’s shoved him back against the floor and ridden his dick like a goddamn mechanical bull, and she still blushes when she talks about sex. Christ, that’s almost too endearing for words—certainly more endearing than any words _Daryl_ could think up. Clumsy peach metaphors aside, a poet he is not.

Nah, he ain’t no James Dickey, but straightforwardness has always been one of his strong suits, so he don’t got no problem giving the girl a straightforward answer, even if it ain’t as pretty as she deserves.

“Yeah,” he says, voice coming out hoarse like he’s been sucking her off for hours already, belly tightening in reaction when Beth’s pupils yawn round and wide, blotting out her irises like a solar eclipse. He licks his lips, runs his hands up her thighs and back down again. “Yeah, I like it. So why not fuckin’ let me, huh?”

Her breath’s coming heavy, heavy and loud, the flush in her cheeks crawling down her throat to paint her delicate collarbones red. The fingers in his hair clench a little tighter, and his eyelids flutter, a groan rumbling low in his throat. Fucking hell, who even knew he’d be _this_ into having his hair pulled? Actually, who knew he’d be into half the shit he’s apparently into, period?

Beth’s smiling again. Smirking, even, or as close to smirking as a face as sweet as hers can get. She spreads her legs wider, heels bumping his arms, pussy gaping open. _Fuck_.

“I dunno,” she drawls, sticky sweet and slow like molasses dripping from the jar, and Daryl can just _smell_ the danger like ozone heralding a storm. “If you want it so much, then why don’t you ask me nicely?”

A weird little tingle zips down Daryl’s spine. He elects to ignore it. “The fuck’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Means what it sounds like.” She cups his jaw and runs her thumb across his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open at the seam to dip inside. “I think somebody needs to teach you some good southern manners, Mr. Dixon.”

His dick gives an interested twitch, which ain’t as easy to ignore as the spine-tingling shit. “An’ you’re gonna be that somebody, huh?” he asks, slurring the words a little ’cause of her thumb in his mouth. 

She pops her thumb out of his mouth and drags it down his cheek, smearing his own spit across his skin. She’s frowning now, just a little bit. “Who else?”

Who else, indeed. Like she’s got any cause to worry about _that_ shit. “An’ you want me to use my _good southern manners_ an’ ask nicely for your pussy, that it?”

Beth ticks up her chin. “You got a problem with that?”

Strangely enough, he doesn’t, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t grumble about it first. “Ain’t never begged for nothin’ in my whole damn life.”

Which is bullshit, actually, because, no, he hasn’t made a habit of getting on his knees and pleading for mercy from a higher power he doesn’t even believe in, but that don’t mean he’s never done it in his _whole damn life_. No atheists in foxholes, right?

So, yeah, he begged God to take the meanness out of his pop so he’d stop beating on him and his momma so much, and then he pleaded with Him again when he looked into Merle’s eyes and saw nothing but hunger staring back. Didn’t get what he wanted either time, though, so what was the fucking point, right?

But Beth don’t need to hear about any of that shit, and she doesn’t ask him to elaborate, either. She just rubs her thumb against his cheek and says, sweetly, “Who said anythin’ about beggin’? I just want you to ask nicely, is all.”

Daryl squirms a little, and not just ’cause his back is starting to hurt. He can feel a flush crawling down his face and spreading to his chest, hot and itchy like sunburn, only no amount of scratching’s gonna give him any relief.

“Ain’t ever done much’a that, neither.”

“Better late than never, huh?”

Daryl squints at her. “Smartass,” he complains, but she just laughs at him, soft and sweet in that way that never fails to make his heart sprint like a jackrabbit, _Christ_. 

“See, that’s not real polite, either. C’mon, Daryl.” The hand on his cheek falls away, dips down between her legs to hook two fingers into her pussy and peel her lips apart with a tacky noise that makes his dick throb like a wound, flashing the dark, wet little hollow that he wants to get his tongue up _so fucking bad_. “It’s easy. Just ask me nice, and you can have it. You can have anythin’ you want.”

 _Oh, fuck_. Daryl clenches his jaw so hard he’s surprised when he doesn’t break a tooth. The world outside the guard tower fucking _reeks_ of ever-present, ever-pervading rot, but all he can smell right now is _her_ , that thick, musky perfume you can’t bottle, plugging up his nostrils and clinging to his tongue and driving him right up the goddamn wall. He wants it. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire goddamn life.

Easy. She called it _easy_. And it should be. It should. But _asking nicely_ ’s a little too close to begging for his comfort, and he’s fucked up, alright, he’s fucked up and he can’t help but think of what his brother might have to say about all this, ’cause even though Merle ain’t here no more, his ghost sure the hell likes to make its presence known from time to time.

And he can _hear_ Merle’s rough, hacksaw laugh, can hear him accusing Daryl of being a pussy-whipped little _bitch_ who’ll just roll right the fuck over and let some tiny slip of a girl lead him around by the dick, and his guts squirm with shame at the notion and then squirm some more for thinking it at all, for letting his dead bastard brother poison the one good thing he’s been allowed to have. 

Fuck. Just. _Fuck_.

“Daryl?”

He doesn’t even realize that he’s screwed his eyes shut until Beth brushes her fingers across them. When he blinks them open and looks at her, he’s met with a frown of concern.

She starts scratching his scalp again. “You alright?”

Not even remotely, but he’s been worse, so he can just deal. “Uh-huh.”

Too bad for him that Beth’s always been able to see right through his bullshit from the very beginning. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. You know that, right? If you don’t wanna do somethin’, I want you to tell me.”

Ah, fuck. He’s always known that this girl is way too fucking good for him, and this shit right here’s just one more reason outta a hundred. Thing is, he wants to be good for her, too. Knows he never will be, but, hell, he can try, can’t he?

“Nah.” He licks his lips, more reflexive than anything. She ain’t holding herself open no more, but she’s still all he can fucking smell. “I wanna.”

And he does. Underneath all the bullshit, underneath the thick layer of shame that probably wouldn’t be there at all if not for the way he was raised, he wants to ask her nice. He wants to be good to her, _for_ her.

She still looks a little doubtful, though. “Are you sure?”

He squeezes her hips, circles her hipbones with his thumbs. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well, in that case—” She cups his chin and angles his face to better look him in the eye, fingertips brushing his hammering pulse. “I’m waitin’, Mr. Dixon.”

He licks his lips again, but it don’t do him much good this time, ’cause all of a sudden, his mouth feels dryer than Death fucking Valley. “Lemme eat your pussy.”

Beth’s nails dig, very lightly, into his skin. “Lemme eat your pussy, _what_?”

Fuck him sideways, but hearing Beth Greene say the word _pussy_ does things to him that go beyond words, drives him half crazy so it’s not too hard to say what she wants to hear, after all.

“Fuck, Beth. Lemme eat your pussy, _please_.”

She smiles at him, soft and proud in a way that makes him shiver with absolute goddamn _delight_ , and when she says, “Good,” all pleased and throaty, that shiver settles deep enough to rattle his bones. “That was real good, Daryl, but I think you can do better. Try again, huh?”

In his unzipped pants, his dick twitches and drools and all but sits up and begs. He does his best to scowl. “Hell you mean, try again? The fuck do you want from me, girl?”

“Uh-uh.” Her fingers pinch his chin, and she _tsks_ in disappointment. Reaches between her legs to toy with her swollen clit, peeking out at him from the tangle of her pubic hair, _mocking_ him. “Now, that wasn’t real polite, was it? What’d I just tell you about manners, huh?”

Yeah, she’s definitely fucking with him. Thing is, he doesn’t mind as much as he pretends to. If it gets her off, then far fucking be it from him to deny her.

So he ducks his head, ducks away from the hand on his jaw, because, yeah, he wants to give her what she wants, but it’ll be easier on him if he don’t have to look her in the eye while he does it. And this is Beth, so she’ll understand.

She _must_ understand, because when he presses his face to the crease of her thigh and inhales the smell of her sweat and come through his open mouth, she pets his hair and scratches the nape of his neck, gentle and encouraging. And then she waits.

He doesn’t keep her waiting long.

“C’mon, Beth,” he says, voice rough with longing. His hands tighten on her hips, fingers digging into the upper curves of her ass. “Wanna eat you out, c’mon, please. Know I’ll make it good for you, fuck, didn’t I make it good before?”

Because he’s pressed so close to her, he feels it like it came from his own body when she shivers. The smell of her in his nose gets stronger, fogging up his brain like whiskey fumes.

“Yeah, Daryl,” she says, more than a little unsteady. “Yeah, you did. You made it real good. You’re always real good to me.”

Christ, she really is gonna kill him, but what a way to go, huh? He burrows closer, even though he’s already about as _close_ as he can get without crawling inside her, mouth so near her cunt he can practically taste her on his tongue. But he won’t. Not until she lets him.

“So let me, huh?” His lips move restlessly against her skin, tongue sweeping out to suck wet kisses that’ll leave marks where nobody but him will see. Her sweat tastes good, but not as good as her pussy. “Lemme suck you off, Beth, _please_ , know I’ll treat you right, fuck, please jus’ fuckin’ _let me_.”

Her breath hitches, and her fingers tangle in his hair and _pull_ , but he doesn’t think she’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he said; sometimes she just gets too worked up to remember to be careful, and he’s the one who’s gone and done that to her. He’s driven her to that point just by _asking nice_.

Fuck, but maybe _good southern manners_ aren’t total bullshit, after all.

“Yeah,” she says, breathless and shaky, and Daryl just about melts through the goddamn floor in abject fucking _relief_. “Yeah, Daryl, I’ll let you. You’re bein’ real good; you deserve it.”

Well, halle-fucking-lujah. Daryl doesn’t waste another goddamn second that could be devoted to eating Beth down to the peach pit; just goes and buries his face between her salt-sweaty thighs, mouth and nose sinking right into her bush, but he hasn’t so much as brushed her fucking clit with his tongue when she’s using her grip on his hair to haul him back.

And he honest-to-God _growls_ , because what the fuck? The hell’s she playing at now?

Beth, being the goddamn fucking _brat_ that she is, just laughs in the face of his grumbling. “Easy there, tiger. Just gimme a minute.”

“What the hell for?” Aside from the sheer joy of winding him the fuck up, anyhow.

“Manners,” Beth reminds him, giving his cheek a light tap. “I was gonna _ask_ if I could have a cigarette. I’ll even say please and thank you, too, show you how it’s done.”

Girl wants a cigarette, huh? He still has to feed the smoke into her mouth whenever she wants a hit, not that it’s much of a chore, and now she thinks she can manage on her own?

She smiles at him from under her lashes, all coy sweetness. “Please?” 

_Hff_. Well, alright. S’not like she ain’t well aware of the consequences. Daryl digs around in his back pocket, unearths his lighter and his squashed pack of smokes, and hands ’em over to Beth.

“Thank you,” she says politely, and shakes a cigarette outta the pack before sticking it between her lips and flicking open the lighter. Daryl watches the tip glow red, a little distracted by the pucker of Beth’s lips and the hollowing of her cheeks, and waits for her to start coughing.

She doesn’t. Maybe her eyes water a little, but she inhales the smoke without incident, then turns her face away to exhale it in a dirty cloud.

She grins at his (mildly) impressed look and plucks the cigarette out of her mouth to say, voice husky with smoke, “Guess I’m finally gettin’ the hang of it, huh?”

“Guess so.”

And that’s all well and good, but he’d really like to get back to sucking her off now. Thankfully, she don’t make him wait much longer; just wraps her pink lips around her cigarette, lies back against the worn-out sleeping bag, and spreads her legs with a luxuriant stretch.

“Alright.” Smoke trickles out from between her lips and stains the air with the hard smell of tobacco. “Go ahead.”

Daryl almost says something sarcastic like, “Want me to fan you with a fuckin’ palm frond while I’m at it, Your Highness?” but he knows better. That wouldn’t be good manners, now, would it?

Girl wants to have a smoke while he’s eating her out, then she can go ahead and have a goddamn smoke. Anyway, if he does it right, then the high of her orgasm ought to put all the nicotine in the world to shame. At least, that’s been his own experience thus far.

Now that Beth’s gotten good and horizontal, Daryl flops down on his belly, ignoring the slight pinch of pain when the hard, unyielding floor bites into his dick. The insides of Beth’s thighs are still wet with sweat and arousal, and he ducks his head to slick his tongue through those sticky, shimmering trails, lapping up salt and musk and _fuck_ , does she taste good, and he ain’t even gotten to the source yet. Not that he’s ever been much for mixed drinks, but this feels a lot like licking salt off the rim of a margarita glass, and he guesses that’s apt. He sure could get lit on her, anyhow.

Beth wraps her fingers up in his hair and gives another gentle tug, the smell of tobacco burning thicker and hotter when she exhales. 

“Daryl, c’mon. What’re you waitin’ around for, huh?”

“Told me to mind my manners.” He switches to her other thigh and runs his tongue up and down a tensed cord of muscle. “Be pretty rude, I let all this go to waste.”

“ _Ungh_ ,” she says, muscles clenching against his cheek. Daryl chooses to take that as an agreement.

“Wanted me to ask nice.” He sucks wet, hard kisses up the line of her thigh to her lower belly, licking a dirty stripe right under her navel so her skin’s shining with his spit and not just her own sweat. “I fuckin’ did. Think it might be your turn to ask nice, huh?” He rubs his scruffy cheek against her abdomen, gets her thrashing underneath him like a fish on a line. “C’mon, Beth. Show me how it’s done.”

He glances up her body and into her face to find her eyes screwed shut, lips clamped together in a tight white line. She’s clutching the cigarette in her fingers, and it’s smoldering at the tip, ash building up into a longer and longer column as the seconds tick by.

“Might wanna ash that,” he tells her, and it’s her turn to growl, like a little wildcat he’s coaxed into climbing into his lap.

“Daryl _Dixon_.” She sounds like she’s damning him to hell, but all it does is make him feel smug. “If you don’t go down on me _right the hell now_ , I swear I’m gonna make you _regret it_.”

Good enough for him. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, and does as she said, diving between her shaky legs like he’s diving for pearls.

He goes in nose first, nudging at her clit, then lower, down to her lips where her smell’s strongest, thick as steam and just as heady. _Steam_ , because she’s hot, so fucking hot, hot enough to scorch his tongue when he drags it up the seam of her cunt and makes her cry out at the cool, wet shock, thighs and ass clenching up hard. And there the fuck it is, the better-than-liquor taste of her, _fucking finally_ , bursting across his tongue, making him press his eyes shut as he groans right into her pussy, and she squirms some more as the vibrating hum buzzes in her clit like the electric pulse of a battery-powered toy.

And he’s back on goddamn peaches again, but there ain’t denying it’s apt, ’cause eating Beth’s pussy really is a lot like eating a fresh peach, nice and ripe and fat and sweet, from the sticky juice dripping down his chin and into his beard to the push of his tongue and teeth into soft, giving flesh. Her pussy even kinda makes a noise like a peach, too, like when you sink your fingers inside it to root out the stone, only he’s using his tongue and not his fingers, and peaches sure as hell don’t rock up to split themselves further open against your hungry mouth.

Both her hands are in his hair now, so she must’ve put the cigarette out, or dropped it—hopefully the first one, but he don’t smell nothing burning, so he doesn’t waste too much time worrying about it—and they’re making his scalp sting and his eyes water as they guide him to where she wants him, but he could not give less of a fuck, alright; if she wants to use his hair like a horse’s reins then she’s goddamn welcome to it. So long as she lets him suck her off, he’s good to go.

 _Good_ doesn’t even begin to fucking cover it, actually. Nah, this’s the best he’s ever been, probably: rooting further down into the heart of her to suck idly on one of her ragged pussy lips for a couple seconds before giving in to the pull on his scalp and getting back to her clit, rolling the hard bead of it around against his tongue like that peach pit he was thinking of earlier.

Beth sighs when he does that, sighs and grunts deep and guttural and nothing at all like the death rattle you hear in the torn throats of walkers. This’s something only the living can do, and with her blood thrumming hot and quick beneath his mouth, she’s as alive as she can get. She’s alive and she’s _here_ and she fucking _owns_ his ass.

And maybe he owns a piece of hers, too, ’cause now _she’s_ close to begging _him_ , and fuck if that don’t send every last drop of blood in his body running south.

“ _Daryl_ , fuck.” She yanks at his hair, just about pulls it right outta his scalp, but he’s too deep in her pussy to really feel it. Can hear just fine, though, and what he hears is her cussing and growling up a storm. “Daryl, just— _fuck_ me, c’mon.”

Now, he’s pretty sure cussing like that goes against all her rules about good southern manners, but he lets her get away with it, mostly, aside from hefting her ass a few inches off the sleeping bag so he can give it a hard smack, fat and muscle jiggling satisfyingly beneath his palm.

Beth yelps like a stuck pig and jerks underneath of him, slinging her legs over his shoulders so her thighs press flush to his ears and muffle his hearing, hard little heels digging into his spine. She’s practically fucking smothering him now, and he couldn’t be goddamn happier about it, nosiree.

Or—yeah, alright. There is one thing that could make him happier, actually, and that’s making her come, _feeling_ her come. Thinks he might be close to making that happen, too, if the tight clamp of her trembling thighs around his head is a good indication, and he’s pretty goddamn sure it is. Girl’s gonna give him a black eye at this rate, not that he gives a singular shit. He’s changed his mind about not wanting to lie and tell people he whacked himself in the face with his bow, because embarrassing as that’d surely be, it ain’t like it’s never happened before, and he’d sooner embarrass himself than let anybody else get all up in his and Beth’s business.

 _He’s_ about as far up in _Beth’s_ business as he can get, anyway, mouth and nose buried so deep in her pussy it’s a wonder he can even fucking breathe, the smothering grip of her thighs notwithstanding. But he is, he is breathing, panting hot and heavy around the hard sweep of his tongue as he laps at her clit, lips pursing to give her the suction she needs to get off, making her legs flail out and kick at the air. Tightens his grip on her ass and hefts her farther off the floor, not ’cause he wants to spank her but because there’s never enough of her in his face no matter how deep he dives. He can’t be with her all the time, but he _can_ sear the taste and smell of her into his mouth and nose, and that’s almost as good.

She’s fucking _close_ ; he can feel her clenching under his tongue; can just hear the noises she’s making over the squeeze of her thighs, high and breathy and almost _panicked_ , nails cutting into his scalp as she squirms and arches and _strains_ —

And comes apart beneath his tongue like a storm breaking, squeezing out a wet, shuddering orgasm all over his face while he grunts and laps at her, working her over till she melts into the canvas sleeping bag, twitching, thighs oozing off his shoulders to flop down to either side of him.

He can tell she’s just about had enough, so he gives her clit one last kitten lick, but you’d think he’d shocked her, she spasms so hard, tugging at his hair until he relents and lifts his head, licking her sticky come off his lips and beard. Can’t help but smile a little when he gets a good look at her flushed face, eyes wide and dark and dazed like somebody just hit her upside the head with a pan. Her half-smoked cigarette sits forgotten on the floor, stubbed out but still smoldering a little.

He did good, didn’t he? He really goddamn did.

Beth must read his mind, or maybe what he’s thinking is just that clear on his face, because her eyes get a little sharper, and she rolls them. “Yeah, okay. Don’t gotta look so _smug_.”

She sounds winded when she says it, flushed cheeks burning bright, so if he _does_ look a little smug, well, he figures he’s entitled.

She braces herself and sits up, tank top riding up so he can see her abdomen clenching with the movement. He wants to run his tongue over those flickering muscles, but she says, “Turn over,” before he can try.

It should probably piss him off at least a little, how quick he is to obey her with nary a goddamn grumble, but his dick’s throbbing too hard for him to care, and it’s pretty much all he can fucking think about now that he’s no longer got a mouthful of Beth’s pussy to distract himself with, so, yeah, he turns himself right the fuck over like he’s flipping a goddamn pancake, sue him.

Beth’s quick to climb on top of him and straddle his thighs, pinning him in place with her sturdy weight. She gets his zipper yanked the rest of the way down and pulls his dick out of his underwear, wet with pre-come and pulsing an angry red—but then she hesitates.

Daryl’s eyes just about cross with frustration. What, is she fucking with him again? Because if she is, swear to fucking _God_ he’ll—

Do what, exactly? He doesn’t remember, because Beth’s dipping between her legs to slather her hand in spit and come, getting her palm all wet and filthy and gleaming, and his eyes cross for reasons that have nothing to do with frustration when she wraps him up tight and starts jerking him off nice and slow and smooth.

He don’t even last a goddamn minute. That _would_ be embarrassing, if he could bring himself to care, which he can’t. Beth’s got her come slathered all over his dick, her hot little hand giving him just the right amount of pressure he needs, so it’s no wonder, really, that he’s so quick to come shuddering and messy all over his stomach, _fuck_.

Beth wipes him off with a corner of the sleeping bag when he’s done. They’re probably gonna have to burn that shit.

He’s still in a daze when she retrieves the stubbed-out cigarette, dusts if off, and lights it. But then she sticks it in _his_ mouth instead of her own, stretching out across his front and nuzzling under his chin in the time it takes him to remember how to exhale.

Daryl watches the smoke dissipate into a shaft of buttery sunlight. Plucks the cigarette outta his mouth and runs a hand down the smooth slope of Beth’s back, fingers tangling in her sweat-soaked tank top. 

“So,” he says, voice hoarse with smoke and sex, “think my manners’re up to snuff?”

Beth hums, thoughtful like. “I dunno,” she decides. “Think you could still stand to learn a thing or two.”

Oh, is that right? “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She props herself up on her elbows and lowers her head to graze her smiling mouth against his. She tastes like tobacco. They both do. “Lucky for you, I’m a pretty good teacher.”


End file.
